Burn Down
by Basalit-an
Summary: Anders is standing at the edge of the abyss, and he must take the leap. Vengeance demands it. How did it come to this?


Anders would never be sure just how things had escalated to the point he now stood, staring down the abyss that was his future. He knew that tonight he would die. He was absolutely certain of it, and he felt almost relieved at the thought. With death, he would finally be free of the Circle and Templars, of living in fear and constantly on the run, and of Justice and the cloud of hatred his mind had been dwelling in the past seven years.

Seven long years it had been since Justice and Anders merged. It felt so long that Anders had altogether forgotten what it had been like before. It seemed that he'd always been like this, consumed in hatred and unbearable anger that only flourished with every passing day. And he had reveled in it all this time.

He closed his eyes against the surge of exhilaration his chest. He fought to hold off on the detonation—it wasn't yet time, but Justice was impatient and yearned for action. There must have been a time _before_, when Anders wasn't so far gone into his own fractured mind. It was in the past, however, and Justice—Vengeance—had no need for the past. It was here and now that Templars were hounding mages, that the Knight-Commander was marching her troups to a veritable genocide. Anders was just a hair away from changing all of that. He only need to lift a finger.

He took one more breath, trying to clear his clouded mind. He couldn't remember when the turning point was—when Vengeance came to be in control and Anders was near helpless to stop it. He was acutely aware that was the case. Did he not kill one of his own kind, a mere child, because he could not contain Vengeance?

When had it been that he had turned from the boy who could only run away to the man who could only be controlled? When did Justice, his companion, his friend, the spirit who he deemed to be an ideal every man should strive toward, warp into nothing more than a glorified demon?

There was a pull, or a shove, or something in his mind, his soul—his being. It was Vengeance, pushing those doubtful thoughts away. Justice hadn't been a demon, no, Anders had not been tricked. Rather, it had been Anders own twisted soul that made Justice into what he was now.

If Anders tried hard enough, and Vengeance allowed it, he could remember what it had been like when he and Justice had first joined. The first feeling Anders could remember was freedom—that he felt not only connected to the Fade, but that he was in the Fade and that he _was_ the Fade. He felt powerful with the way Justice's energy bolstered Anders own abilities. It had been a glorious experience. His mind bloomed with possibilities, plots and ponderances, and he had never felt so liberated.

Liberation was fleeting, however, as his thoughts quickly began to not only focus on those things that brought him anger, but become entirely consumed by them. Every sight of a Templar, every look of hopelessness and fear in the eyes of a mage brought up such intense surges of anger that Anders had to cloister himself for a time to gain a measure of control over them.

He soon began to realize that Justice wasn't with him, but that Justice had become him just as much as Anders had become Justice. Anders never heard voices whispering in his mind, but rather that he felt urges, passions and desires that grew and manifest in awesome and terrifying ways, until Anders had finally arrived to the point where he now stood.

The time had come. Anders had to make a point, send a message. But he was peering down into a bleak, unknown and frightening future. He had to jump, but he faltered, and doubt began to overcome him. For one fleeting moment, he regained his whole being.

And he just stared, unable to move. What was he _doing_? Was he really about to destroy the Chantry? Was that really the answer?

But Anders lost all conscious thought in one split second, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a crate in the Chantry courtyard. Rubble and debris was strewn around him, and Hawke's eyes bore into the back of his head.


End file.
